


The First Year is the Hardest

by starkist



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-27
Updated: 2012-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-15 03:43:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkist/pseuds/starkist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first year after loss is the hardest to deal with, or so they say. Katniss and Peeta have suffered through more loss than most. Now they are dealing with their first year after the war and the end of the Games, and must find a way to deal with all that they've been through. My take on how they grew back together post-Mockingjay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Year is the Hardest

**Author's Note:**

> If the first part of this chapter sounds familiar, it's because an earlier version of this story was posted a couple of months ago under a different name. I've revised things since then, and so I decided to delete that version and start over from scratch. Hopefully the new version is enjoyable.

The phone rings without end. I sigh and roll my eyes as I finally reach for it. You have to pick up the phone, Peeta’s words echo through my mind. He was right, of course, just like he always is. Was. No, is, I correct myself, and I can’t help thinking of those last days in the Capitol before it all went to hell.  
  
I had tried to ignore it, like I always do with instructions I don’t care to follow. Usually, whoever is calling will give up and finally leave me to my solitude. Not today, though. Just when the phone had finally fallen silent, and I thought I could finally return to the quiet numbness my days are now filled with, it only started ringing again a moment later. Whoever was on the other end wasn’t taking no for an answer. Probably Dr. Aurelius, I think to myself. He would know Peeta had delivered his message by now, and would be more aggressive about getting me to pick up than ever.  
  
I grit my teeth, bracing myself as I lift the receiver to my ear. “Hello?”  
  
“Katniss,” the old man says, the relief that he’s gotten me to answer his call at last evident in his voice. “How are you doing?”  
  
I shrug, even though I know he can’t see it. At least, I hope he can’t. Who knows what kind of technology the Capitol installed in these houses in order to keep an eye on their victors?  
“I’ve been better,” I say.  
  
“Of course,” he agrees, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. It is, really. “What have you been up to since your return to District 12?”  
  
“Not much.”  
  
“I see,” he says, his tone matter-of-fact. I can’t help wondering what the point of this is. I know, of course, but how does he expect to help me when I can’t even answer with more than three words at a time?  
  
“And Greasy Sae? Is she stopping by, like she promised?”  
  
“Every morning and night,” I tell him. “With her granddaughter,” I add the last part in an effort to be somewhat more helpful. Instead I just feel more awkward.  
  
“Good. That’s good,” he says. We fall silent for a moment, and I almost forget I’m on the phone at all as I stare at a point right below the clock on the wall in front of me.  
  
“And Peeta…” he begins again at last, and this time the hesitation is a lot more apparent, “How do you feel about him being home?”  
  
I stop and consider this briefly. “I don’t know. Okay, I guess.”  
  
“Okay?” he asks.  
  
“Okay,” I confirm. I know he wants me to go on, but frankly, I don’t have it in me.  To explain how I feel about Peeta’s return would require more energy than I think I have to give right now; I haven’t even really taken the time to figure it out yet myself. It’s only been a little over a day as it is. I’m glad, of course, but there’s something else there as well. Guilt, I think. And why I feel guilty is a can of worms I don’t even want to think about opening right now.  
  
“Okay,” he repeats after some time. “I just wanted to check in on you. See how you were doing. I’ll have Greasy Sae continue her visits. And Haymitch,” he adds the last part, probably only because he’s technically supposed to. Both of us know Haymitch is usually too busy drowning his own sorrows in a bottle of whiskey to really be of much use. I still haven’t seen him since the day we returned to Twelve. “Please call me if you need to talk. If I don’t hear from you, then I’ll call you this same time next week.”  
  
“All right,” I agree half-heartedly. I suppose there really isn’t much I can do to stop him. I still can’t figure out why, though, when this conversation didn’t seem all that productive. How could this possibly help?  
  
“Have a good week, Katniss,” he says, and then hangs up the phone. Well, that was short. I hang up the phone myself, and then continue sitting there, staring at that same spot below the clock for what seems like hours. It probably is, I realize after a while. Time seems to have no bearing on me anymore.  
  
When the room begins to grow dimmer from the setting sun, I realize I should probably move. I get up and wander to the kitchen, staring at the supplies that were left sitting on the counter. I have half a mind to prepare my own dinner for a moment, but as quickly as it came, the motivation to do so is now gone. I decide I should probably settle on the couch again until it returns. As I do, I can’t help wondering why I’m like this today, when yesterday I had gained such a spurt of energy, I had actually made it back to the woods to go hunting for the first time in months. I lean my head back to rest on the back of the couch and close my eyes. It doesn’t matter why. Few things seem to matter anymore.  
  
After a while, I hear the door creak open. “Katniss?” Greasy Sae’s voice calls through the empty house as I hear them enter. I say nothing as she enters the room, followed by her granddaughter and then Peeta.  
  
Peeta.  
  
A surge of something resembling happiness briefly courses through me, before being swallowed up in those feelings of guilt again. Why do I feel this way? Will I ever not feel guilty when it comes to this boy? He says nothing to me, but I can feel his eyes on me as I cover my own with my hands.  
“Have you done anything today?” Greasy Sae asks me. Of course the answer is still the same one I gave Dr. Aurelius – not much. Unlike Dr. Aurelius, however, she leaves it at that, and begins preparing the dinner I had given up on. A small part of me wonders how thrilled she would have been to arrive here to find me at such a task, but I don’t really care enough to think much more about it. Somewhere near me in the room, I can hear her granddaughter begin playing with Buttercup on the floor, probably with a string of yarn. The cat hasn’t left my side since he returned last night. Peeta asks Greasy Sae if there’s anything he can do to help, and when she refuses, I feel him cautiously join me on the couch.  
  
He still says nothing to me. He doesn’t even sit very close to me, from what I can make out. My eyes are still closed, refusing to allow more of the world in than I have to. Not until I’m ready, at least. I actually would like nothing more than to hide out in one of the closets for a while, but I know I’m not allowed to do that right now.  
  
When Greasy Sae finally announces that dinner is ready, I open my eyes at last. I catch Peeta as he passes by me, his eyes flitting away from mine when he sees that I’m looking. Just like when we were in school, I think, before catching myself. I really don’t need any more bittersweet memories of the past haunting me today.  
  
Dinner goes quietly, with Greasy Sae and Peeta making small talk. I don’t say much of anything, but try to at least seem like I’m paying attention to them, nodding in places where it’s appropriate. Greasy Sae tells of the activity going on in town; the way the former residents of District 12 are beginning to trickle back home, and the start of plans for reconstruction. I notice she leaves out the part about the mass grave in the Meadow. I feel as though I should be bothered by this implication that she thinks I can’t handle reality, but do I really want to hear more about that than I already know?  
  
When dinner is over, she begins to clean up. Starting to feel a little guilty over allowing her to do so much for me without even an offer of help, I attempt to join her in doing the dishes. But when I fly into a rage over a spot on a teacup that won’t come off, she sends me away to join Peeta on the couch again. I stare at the wall, managing to get out a “goodbye,” and then, quickly, a “thank you,” when the party finally leaves. I sigh and again lower my head to the seatback behind me, when something registers in my mind.  
  
“You’re still here.”  
  
Peeta looks a little sheepish as he shrugs his shoulders. “Is that okay?”  
  
“Sure,” I mutter, flopping my head back down to resume my staring at the ceiling.  
  
“I can leave if you want.”  
  
“It’s fine,” I mutter again.  
  
He’s silent for a long moment. “I just…” he begins slowly, as though searching for the right words to say. A distinct sadness rises in me at this; Peeta never had to think about the right thing to say before. It always came naturally to him. Just one more thing to be angry about, I think.  
  
“I didn’t really want to be alone tonight,” he finishes at last. I nod, not really sure what to say to this. I wish I had this problem, but even after – or maybe even because of - months of solitary confinement, I still find myself wishing everyone would just leave me alone. But if there’s anyone whose company wouldn’t bother me quite so much, it’s Peeta’s. Despite everything that’s happened to us.  
  
“It’s fine, Peeta,” I repeat. “You can stay if you want to.”  
  
Out of the corner of my eyes, I see him nod his head thoughtfully. We fall into another one of those silences that seem to be becoming the norm for me for a long while.  Then, finally, I hear him clear his throat nervously.  “What did you think of the bushes?” he asks.  
  
What did I think? To begin to describe it would be impossible. Stronger emotions than I can handle dealing with threaten to bubble up even thinking about it. Of course, I think it was sweet of Peeta to plant them. Sweet in the way the old Peeta used to be. And, though I dare not think about it too much, it seems like he’s becoming more and more like that boy again. But the thoughts of what they did to him, and her, and everyone else I have ever cared about only reminds me again of how angry I am.  
  
But I don’t tell him this. “They’re fine,” is all I say, and immediately I can tell that he’s disappointed. This irritates me for some reason. I never asked him to plant those bushes.  
But Peeta chooses to let it go, and again looks thoughtful as he takes me in much in the same way he did yesterday. “Did you hunt this morning?” he asks.  
  
“No,” is all I say.  
  
Peeta frowns at this. “Katniss… I know we’ve been through a lot, but-“  
  
“I talked to my mother, though,” I interrupt him before he can go much further.  
  
“Well, that’s a good start. But still--“  
  
“Why did you even come back, Peeta? To lecture me?” I snap, completely unable to mask the irritation in my voice. I turn my head sharply to face him. Who does he think he is, anyways? Wasn’t he the one undergoing counseling for months because he didn’t even know what was real anymore? What makes him think he has the right to tell me how to handle any of this?  
  
Peeta looks completely taken aback. He drops his gaze, and a look of sadness mixed with some confusion crosses his face.  
  
“Why? You know why.”  
  
I do, but his reminder of that conversation we shared in our first Games only makes me even angrier. I shake my head.  
  
“Because that’s what you and I do, Katniss.” And then he gives me a smile that somehow manages to be both melancholy and playful at once.  I know he’s trying to get me to smile, too, but now I feel less like doing so than ever. In fact, if anything, I only feel like crying. But I refuse to give in to that as well. Instead I only scowl and look away stubbornly.  
  
Maybe this was a mistake, though, because I can feel Peeta tense up. Suddenly, I’m afraid I’ve triggered another one of his episodes. I know they must still come back, no matter how good shape Dr. Aurelius considers him to be in. Nothing ever goes that smoothly.  I dare to look over at him out of the corner of my eye, and fortunately he doesn’t have that clouded look he gets in his eyes when the Tracker Jacker poison threatens to take over his mind again. Unfortunately, there is still a hard look on his face, even if it is a normal one.  When he sees I’m not going to say anything, Peeta sighs and continues.  
  
“This is my home, Katniss. I have nowhere else to go.”  
  
And suddenly he’s on his feet, moving towards the door. I really didn’t mean to upset him. But of course I did. I seem to be getting better and better at that these days.  
  
“Good night, Katniss,” he says, and his voice sounds more tired than ever. The look on his face instantly makes me regret the entire way I’ve acted tonight.  
  
“Stay,” I want to call out to him, but I don’t, and then he’s gone.  
  
  
  
When I wake the next morning, I realize I am in the same spot on the couch that I was last night. Apparently I had fallen asleep there sometime after Peeta had left. My neck hurts, probably from the position I slept in, and the memory of Peeta immediately puts me in a sour mood. The thought of him mad at me only makes me mad at him, and that puts me on the defensive. I’ve lost everything, everything, and that includes my sanity. Or what little I had left of it, at least. Why was I expected to be so considerate to anybody now?  
  
Still, on some level I realize I’m not being entirely fair. It’s not as though Peeta’s life for the last two years has been all that great, either. But I’m so lost in my frustration that I try not to think about it too much. I decide to stay where I am, lying on the couch for some time. I’m not even sure how long it is, but the next thing I know, I hear Greasy Sae letting herself in for breakfast.  
I sigh, and sit up. “Morning,” she greets me, her granddaughter trailing behind. This time, though, there is no Peeta to follow. I might be a little disappointed, but I refuse to give it much thought. Fine. Let him be mad, I think.  
  
The morning’s actions closely mirror those of last night, with Greasy Sae starting breakfast while her granddaughter finds a way to entertain herself. I wrap a blanket around me while I try not to think about anything. Eventually, though, it dawns on me that Greasy Sae may suspect something happened after she left last night -- She would have stopped by Peeta’s before she came here.  His refusing to come over this morning would have tipped her off. Fair or not, I find myself becoming more defensive than ever at this thought. Neither one of them were taking into consideration how I was feeling.  
  
I’m so caught up in being angry, that I don’t even hear the door open. I don’t realize anyone else has come in until he shows up in the room, looking unsure of himself, and refusing to look at me.  
  
“Sorry I’m late,” he begins, addressing Greasy Sae alone, “I had some stuff to do.”  
  
She gives him a toothy smile. “Better late than never,” she tells him. He returns the smile, and walks over to join her. This time, she accepts his offer of help, making a big to-do about how much her joints are bothering her today, but I can’t help thinking it’s probably because she knows it would be too awkward to make him sit over by me. I ignore both of them, and lay back down on the couch, attempting to fall back to sleep. I don’t even get up to eat with them, and try to drown out their conversation that drifts over from the table. I can feel the glances in my direction Peeta thinks he’s stealing, though. Afterwards, they both clean up as quickly and quietly as they can. Before she leaves, Greasy Sae tells me she put some leftovers by the stove if I decide I’m hungry later.  
  
At last, I’m alone. Because I am hungry, I throw off my blanket and make my way over to the stove. I take the breakfast she left for me to the now abandoned table to eat it. As I do so, my eyes fall on the bow I had left sitting by the back door. I briefly consider going out to hunt. For some reason, I feel more up to it today than I had yesterday. Thinking it might help me clear my mind, I throw on my old hunting jacket, grab the bow, and head out the door.  
  
Normally it wouldn’t take me so long to reach the rock in the woods, but this time I wanted to avoid passing by the Meadow. To do that, I had to take the long way around town. It wouldn’t have even been an option before, but now that the fence is down, I can leave the district wherever I want.  
  
I don’t know why I continue to head to this place first. There isn’t any point to it now. Still, old habits die hard, I guess, and before I know it I find myself sitting on our old meeting place again. I know Gale won’t be coming back. I don’t even want him to.  I don’t know if it’s very fair for me to blame him for her death, but I honestly can’t help it. Even if it’s irrational, I still do.  
  
Fair. There’s that word again. I don’t know why I’m dwelling on it, since I never stopped to consider whether or not anything was fair before. Just one more thing to add to the list of things I don’t understand anymore, I guess. I close my eyes; I can’t help wishing things could just go back to the way they were before that awful day when the Reaping stole my sister, my best friend, my whole life. Despite everything I did to protect her, I never really got her back after that.  
  
It’s impossible. Things will never be the same again. So why even think about it? I open my eyes again, take in the scene of the forest that unfolds into the valley before me. We had sat here the very morning our lives changed forever. It seems like a lifetime ago at this point.  
He had asked me to run away with him that morning. What if we had? Would any of this happened if I had just said yes? Maybe not, I realize sadly, but everything else would still be the same also. There would still be the Games. Innocent children would still be sacrificed for the sake of the almighty Capitol.  
  
There was also the fact that I wasn’t in love with Gale. And out here, with no one but the mockingjays and my thoughts for company, it was easier than ever before to admit it. I never loved him like he wanted me to. But maybe I would have, if none of this had ever happened. Maybe, when the children we had helped raise were beyond the reapings’ grasp, and we were as free as we could ever be to start our own lives, it would have developed into that. But I’ll never know now  
  
It doesn’t matter, either, I realize. Because things ended up the way they have, and there is no changing it. And there is also Peeta…  
  
My stomach twists into knots at the thought of him. Out here in the open, it’s also easier for me to regret the way I treated him last night. Peeta had been guilty of nothing but returning to me. Just like he promised. And in return, how did I repay him? By snapping at him and scaring him off. I truly never would stop owing the boy with the bread. I shove off the rock, not wanting to think about any of this anymore. I lurk around in the woods for a little while, managing to get a couple of squirrels and a rabbit before I start feeling weak again and decide to head back home. I still take the long way back, despite feeling weak, because, more than ever, I want to forget everything and go back to feeling numb.  
  
But as just as I’m about to slip through the back door of my house, a familiar voice calling my name stops me. It’s Peeta, and he’s making his way over to me. I stop, bow slung over my shoulder, and wait, trying to meet his eyes, but only managing to look somewhere to the side of his head. “May I come in?” he asks when he finally reaches me. Still unable to meet his eyes, I nod, looking down at the floor instead. He follows me in as I drop the bow in its spot next to the door, and deposit the game bag on the kitchen counter. I really don’t know what to do, or why he’s come over. Wordlessly, I take my spot on the couch, and Peeta follows. We sit in silence for some time as he takes me in, and I try to look anywhere but at him.  
  
Finally, he speaks. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“About what?” My eyes dart over in his direction in confusion.  
  
“Everything. Last night,” he says. “I should have known bringing that up would still be too hard for you to talk about.”  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous, Peeta,” I say. This was so like him, to apologize when I was the one who had done something wrong. It takes me a moment to realize how significant that is, but when I do, I can’t help it. My mood brightens considerably.  
  
Peeta is shaking his head. “No. It really was thoughtless of me. Of course that would be a sensitive subject for you. It was wrong for me to bring it up.”  
  
It’s my turn to shake my head. “It’s okay, Peeta. Really.”    
  
He nods, and we fall into silence again. Then, Peeta takes a deep breath, and looks like he’s about to say something important. Oh no, I think, here we go. Because whatever Peeta is about to say, chances are I’m not ready to talk about it yet.  
  
“Katniss,” Peeta starts slowly, hesitation evident on his face, “there is something I’d like to ask you.”  
  
I try not to cringe, but I’m not sure how well I hide it. The last thing I want to do right now is talk about any of the number of things he could possibly bring up. No matter what they are, it’s inevitable they’ll eventually lead to the question of whatever we were before the Capitol stole him. But Peeta surprises me with what he asks instead.  
  
“Will you go for a walk with me?”  
  
I must look confused, because he actually grins when he sees it. I’m not sure what to make of this request, if it’s even a good idea, but for some reason I find myself nodding. This probably isn’t something Peeta should do on his own, anyway.  
  
Before long, we’re out the door and on our way up the path leading out of the Victor’s Village. As we approach the remains of what used to be our town, I’m beginning to rethink this. From what I remember of our time in the Capitol, memories didn’t seem to set Peeta off too much, but I don’t know what he’s like now. What if he sees something that triggers something, and I don’t know how to handle it?  
  
We make our rounds of the ruins in relative silence. The carts I saw on my first trip around the district still dot the road all the way through, still growing greater in number the closer to my old house we get. Peeta is taking in everything with an expression I can’t read. Every once in awhile he makes an unintelligible noise, but other than that it’s almost impressive how little he reacts to it. We’re almost to the end of the Seam, when I stop in my tracks. He looks at me curiously, and I shake my head. “I don’t want to go over there,” I tell him. Once was enough.  
  
Peeta’s eyes follow my gaze, and I can tell when they land on the gaping hole that is the Meadow, the carts surrounding it, the workers dumping remains into the pit. He turns back to me, his expression questioning. “Is that... what are they doing?” he asks.  
  
My eyes drop to the ground. “It’s where they’re putting... everyone.”  
  
Peeta says nothing, and when I glance back up, he’s looking at the site with a mixture of sadness and fascination. I understand the feeling, really I do, but it’s become too much for me by now. “Let’s go,” I finally say.  
  
He nods, tearing his eyes away from the work site, and follows as I lead him away. As we make our way back to what used to be the center of town he catches up to me. His hand brushes against mine, and surprised, I can’t stop my head from turning to see if it was on purpose. But his face is as expressionless as ever, his eyes focused straight ahead. I shake it off, deciding it had only been an accident, something that happened as he worked to match my pace. Besides, Peeta seems to be focused on something. My mind is too hazy to try and concentrate on what it might be, though.  
  
When we reach the town square, it takes me a moment to realize that Peeta has come to a stop. I turn around, and find him staring, bewildered, at everything surrounding us. Nothing of the familiar scenery he grew up with has remained, I realize; it’s all gone. Not that it’s an unfamiliar feeling for me, but it’s different with Peeta somehow.  
  
After a moment, I speak. “Peeta...” I begin slowly.  
  
Peeta shakes his head, as though he’s just woken up from a nap and can’t remember where he is. “I’m okay,” he mutters, but he doesn’t look it. Still dazed, he moves forward slowly, his eyes hard as he takes the sight in. I really don’t know what to do now, so I just watch him silently, following him as he makes his way around the wreckage. The workers are still here, lined up around the square; I see them watching us. Thom is still working over on this part of town, too. He nods his head in greeting in my direction, but other than that, they leave us alone.  
  
At last, Peeta comes to a stop at the foot of a particular mound of the rubble and freezes. He makes no move to indicate what he’s thinking, no sound, no expression. I’m really at a loss over what to do now, so I only continue to stand there helplessly myself. In the back of my mind I can feel something nagging at me, trying to jar my memory and help me figure out what’s going on. For some reason, though, I can’t let the thought break through. I’m just about to move forward and gently shake his arm back to reality, when he slowly sinks to his knees. His hands scoop up piles of the rubble and it trickles back out through the cracks in between his fingers. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, just barely loud enough to pick up. I’m about to ask him what he’s apologizing for, because I really can’t think of anything he’s done that would make him do so, when I notice the tears that have begun to fall from his eyes.  
  
Now I’m really at a loss. I don’t know what to do, what to tell him. “What are you sorry for, Peeta?” I cautiously ask him, because it’s still the only thing I can think to do.  
  
“It’s my fault this happened to them,” he answers, but I’m not entirely sure he’s saying it to me. I’m so bad at this kind of thing; all I can do is look around nervously. For the first time, I really take in our location. And suddenly it clicks for me: we’re at the site of where the bakery used to stand. His former home, I realize. I can just see the charred remains of the apple tree I had collapsed under that day he gave me the bread. How could I not have realized it? I think. Because really, the fact that he’d want to go to the bakery should have been my first instinct.  
  
I feel awful for not thinking of this myself, but Peeta’s actions make a lot more sense now. I’m still at a loss over how to handle them, though. Apparently going through it yourself doesn’t necessarily make you better at dealing with it in other people. If anything, it makes it harder. I have no words of comfort I can offer him. What would even make him feel better? Is there anything that could? Probably not, just as nothing could make me feel better over losing Prim. Oh, Prim. Why did this have to happen to her? Between her and my father, and my mother off in 4, I remember just how alone I am now.  
  
Except I’m not; not really. I have Haymitch, as absent as he may be currently, and Greasy Sae and her granddaughter... and Peeta. And really, I have my mother, too. She just isn’t here in 12 with me. Which is a lot more than Peeta can say for his family. They were  entirely wiped out by the war. Cautiously, I approach him. I slowly sink to the ground next to him, and, sitting cross-legged, I can only watch him, silent as I let him have this time to deal with what I have already dealt with: the first time it sinks in that the people you love are really and truly gone.  
  
“I miss them,” he says.  
  
I nod. “I know. I miss Prim, too.”  
  
He nods also. “That’s why I brought you the bushes.”  
  
Of course it was. Only Peeta would think of something like that. I feel awful, though, because I spent so much time thinking about my own loss, it never occurred to me that he did it because he understood how it felt. I wish there were something I could do for him in return, but I can’t think of anything.  
  
“They were beautiful, Peeta.” I feel a little awkward admitting this for some reason, but I can’t think of anything better to say. Besides, it seems to make him feel a little better. He gives a small smile, anyways.  
  
“I’m glad you liked them,” he says, but I can tell his mind isn’t really on the flowers. He stares out across the way, I think looking at what is the remains of the apple tree. He squints his eyes, as though trying to remember something, then says, “That’s the tree you were under when I threw the bread. Real or not real?”  
  
“Real,” I say. Peeta lets out something like a sigh and continues to study it. I take this chance to really look at him for the first time since he came home yesterday. His blond curls had been singed at the explosion at the City Center, just as my own hair had, but they seem to be growing back. Likewise, patchwork skin that mirrors mine covers his body. His seems to be healing faster than mine, though. Probably because while I was trying to starve myself to death, he was actually eating, trying to recover. Those long eyelashes of his are still there, though.  
  
“Why did you come back, Peeta?” I ask again. “There’s nothing holding you here. You could have gone anywhere.” It hurts to think about, but it’s true. Coming back to 12 was never a guarantee for him. If anything, he would have been better off staying in the Capitol, working with Dr. Aurelius on regaining his memories and maybe picking up a fancy job there. Just as Gale had done. And my mother. Really, I was the only one confined to 12 anymore.  
  
Peeta takes me in for some time before he finally sighs and answers. “I told you, Katniss -- I have nowhere else to go.”  
  
“That’s not true,” I can’t help saying. “You could go anywhere in Panem now, if you wanted.”  
  
Several emotions at once seem to cross Peeta’s face; I’m not sure what to make of them. He chooses his next words slowly, deliberately. “That’s true,” he agrees, “but...” his blue eyes seem to focus somewhere far away beyond my shoulder, “I guess I just feel like this is the best bet I have to ever recover the memories I haven’t been able to yet.”  
  
I nod. “Because this is where your family was.”  
  
“Yeah,” he agrees, then looks at me as though he’s considering something. “And... “ he begins, but then stops short.  
  
“And?” I prod him.  
  
Peeta takes a deep breath before he continues. “And... because you and Haymitch are the closest thing I have left to it, now.”  
  
I can just barely fight the tears that well up in my eyes at this admission. Partly because I didn’t think Peeta would ever feel this way again, and the fact that he does is nothing short of a miracle. But also because I understand all too well what he means. I bring my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them, looking back towards the stump of the apple tree. I say nothing, but I can feel Peeta watching me.  
  
“You don’t think I’m a mutt?” I ask after a while, my voice small. I feel silly asking this, but I can’t help it. I need to know.  
  
Peeta looks out across the way. “Not anymore than I am,” he tells me, his voice pained. He’s right, of course. Fire mutts. I made the same observation at that meeting in the Capitol. He continues. “I’m not saying I won’t have my moments, though. As much as I wish I were, I’m not entirely past the hijacking.” I nod. “But Dr. Aurelius has helped me a lot in the past few months. I remember...” he pauses, looking me up and down, “most of what really happened. Enough to know you would never hurt me. Not on purpose, at least.”  
  
For the first time, I’m able to hold his gaze. “Okay,” I say, just barely audible. And then the tears start falling. Almost instinctively, I move forward to greet them as I find myself wrapped in Peeta’s arms. “Katniss,” he whispers, his hands caressing my hair softly. Tears wrack my body; I jerk with every sob that escapes. Peeta is trying to hush me, but I’m soon aware that he’s crying, too. We’re both broken. The girl and boy who were on fire, who burned so intensely they turned their very lives to ashes.  
  
We stay like this for some time. The workers continue around us, but leave us be. It isn’t until the sun has started to set, casting an orange glow on us, that we break apart. His face is red and puffy from the crying; I suppose mine is as well. Peeta gingerly climbs to his feet, then holds a hand out to help me to my own. “Come on,” he says, and we walk back home together.


End file.
